


The Way to a Man's Heart

by MountainRose, synteis



Series: Poly Family Avengers [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battlestar Galactica - Freeform, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Donuts, Food, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Through Food, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Iron Man 3, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, ragu, tiramisù
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/synteis/pseuds/synteis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After New York everything was harder. Rough on all of them. A box of donuts changes the course of the Avengers and goes a long way towards making one of them happy, for a while, but Steve and Tony are going to have to talk about their shit eventually. </p><p>A series of codas to the films starting with The Avengers, and featuring plots that revolve far too much around food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Donuts

The first time was sweat and exhaustion and both of them half in their suits, coffee on their tongues and a bit of tomato sauce still on Tony’s cheek. Cap wiped it off with his thumb in the chaos of that first, frantic kiss, as they shoved and grabbed at each other, desperate for contact. The first time was a mistake, an accident, not going to happen again, a product of too much lifting pieces of rubble only to find cold and frozen flesh beneath, both of them desperately missing the people that they’d thought that they would be building the rest of their life with. It was hot and raw and all of Tony’s teenage fantasies coming true, except for the part where people had died and Pepper wasn’t taking him back and he desperately needed to know he, at least, was still alive.

The second time came soon after the first, but this time Cap pulled a leather jacket out of somewhere and he laid Tony down on it. His kisses were sweet instead of hard and demanding, their suits in a pile on the ground beside them, dirt and grease on their skin. The second time was… was confusing. Cap was so earnest and focused; he took his time to fuck into Tony thoroughly, long and deep strokes that made Tony moan and beg for “More, Steve, please more.” After the second time, Tony straightened his clothes, pulled out of Cap’s (warm and strong) embrace and coughed before giving him a nod and a pat on the shoulder. Cap did the same and they parted ways without another word.

The third time, well the third time… Let’s back up.

Tony went home the night after the first and the second and downed most of a bottle until Dummy leveraged the bottle away (on JARVIS’s orders no doubt). He woke up mostly on the couch down in his workshop, but not entirely, with a stiff back and an aching reminder that he wasn’t young enough to be doing this anymore. He put on the suit with a groan, grateful when JARVIS took pity on him and gave him an injection of ibuprofen. 

He arrived at today site and nodded, but kept his mouth shut. Cap looked like he might be ready to say something, shuffling his feet a little but first, they fell back into the routine of lifting slabs of concrete and steel.

“I hope I didn’t– I didn’t do anything you didn’t want me to,” Steve got out eventually, like the weight of the girder squeezing the words out of him.

“No, uh, no, Cap, nothing like that. You were great, really great,” Tony managed, more than a little bit stunned until he remembered to slice through the beam so Steve could put it on the pile.

Cap looked him up and down as the dust settled, eyes uncertain and Tony felt a knife go through his gut. Great, he’d managed to make Captain America feel like he was a bad lay.

Tony tried to think of something to say but by the time he looked up Cap had wandered off and Tony wasn’t going to chase after him just to make a fool of himself.

Still it gnawed on him all day.

“How do you convince someone they were a good lay, JARVIS?”

“I’m not an expert on the subject, however the internet suggests that chocolates, jewelry and other gifts are often given to sexual partners. Other suggestions include a night out to dinner and ‘doing it again,’ sir,” came JARVIS’s dependable programmed tones.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t sass me,” grumbled Tony.

Still Cap was an All-American sort of guy, surely he wouldn’t be able to say no to donuts. They could be apology donuts and maybe let’s do it again donuts. The sex hadn’t been so bad and Tony could handle a bit of a cuddle if it meant this would be a regular thing. After all Cap wasn’t anything to squelch at and then he’d know that he was a good lay, just like JARVIS had said.

“JARVIS order a dozen donuts from that place I like– actually on second thought make that two dozen. Cap’s a super soldier, after all.”

“Very well, sir.”

Satisfied, Tony went back to working on the Helicarrier design, it really shouldn’t be so vulnerable to having one of its turbines knocked out.

Several hours later the donuts arrived and Tony brought them up to the mansion’s living room. With the tower destroyed they’d had to move into the old mansion instead and unfortunately JARVIS was not fully integrated with the house.

Thankfully Steve was in the living room when he arrived.

Tony put on his best smile. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Cap. Twenty-four of the century’s finest donuts.”

Steve looked at him with questioning eyes. “Uh, thanks Tony, that’s really swell of you.”

Tony thrust the box forward.

Steve walked hesitantly forward before opening up the box and taking out a simple jelly-filled donut. He looked at Tony again, still looking a bit forward so Tony tried to smile encouragingly and Steve took a bit. And promptly moaned a little.

Tony stared.

Steve took a larger bite and in a matter of moments the donuts was demolished, the light dusting of powdered sugar on his hands the only sign it had ever existed.

“Thank you Tony, they’re really good,” he said, another one already in hand. In a matter of moments half of the box had been demolished while Tony held it in his hands his eyes gradually growing wider.

“Oh uh,” said Steve now finished his latest donut. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask if you wanted one. Uh, do you want one?”

Tony didn’t say anything still stunned.

“You can sit on the couch? JARVIS sent me a list of channels he thought I’d like but I’ve just got on the news for now.”

Tony took a step forward and then another and finally joined Steve on the couch, still looking at Steve’s mouth.

“Sorry, they’re just, they were really good and I sort of forgot to eat dinner,” he gestured towards the TV where a news anchor was talking about the aftermath of the Battle of New York.

Tony broke out of his stupor. “Yeah not surprising with the kind of junk that they’ve got on there.”

Steve tried to look affronted, “The people deserve to register their complaints with us.” He looked down, chagrined. “But I probably shouldn’t have gotten so caught up in them that I forgot to eat.”

“You bet.” Tony let his shoulder bump Steve as he settled in. That was acceptable, right. Shoulder, completely non-erogenous. “If I let you starve while you’re in my house I’ll probably be charged for defacing a national monument.”

Steve chuckled. 

Tony grabbed a vanilla glaze donut topped with rainbow sprinkles (HAH cholesterol) before taking control of the remote.

“I’ve got the perfect show. It’s a classic sci-fi series. Just up your alley, all about personal responsibility and personal liberties. The first episode sets it all up and it’s three hours long but after that they’re all one hour; best watched in maybe, blocks of four?”

Steve studied him. “Yeah Tony, that sounds nice.”

“Alright! J, put on Battlestar Galactica episode 1,” said Tony with a smile, manually switching the TV from broadcast to HDMI2.

Five episodes in they’d gone through the rest of donuts and Steve was looking starry-eyed. “I always loved sci-fi, you know. A priest gave me a copy of Frankenstein when I was a kid. I guess he thought I’d relate because I was in bed all the time. Saw Metropolis and the Bride of Frankenstein when they first came out, used to read whatever Asimov put out and some Jules Verne too when they had him in the library. But nothing like that. People living in space. Robots that look like people…”

“Don’t worry, JARVIS has promised that in the event that he decides to take over the world he’ll be a benevolent dictator and that I’ll be given a workshop. I’m sure that if you’re nice to him he’ll set you up with a regular delivery of those donuts.”

Just on queue, Steve’s stomach growled. Steve himself blushed.

“What do you say, Cap, wanna join me for a burger?” Tony asked, showing the napkins back in the box to take the lot to the trash. 

“Sure. After that, you wanna fuck?”

Tony dropped the box, scrambled to grab it, and dropped it again. Steve laughed at him, and damn him, but he was fucking smirking. Still blushing like a lighthouse, but that mouth. 

“Just like that?” 

“Just like that. It's fun, you like it, I like it, let's do more of it?” 

Tony's mouth opened to say...yeah, he had no idea what to say to that, except...

“Yes. Uh, yeah, sure! No strings? Or, well, I can do strings, I mean, ask Pepper about, um. Strings--” 

“Tony, you and Pepper--”

“Broke up! Uh, that's the thing, with strings, not great at them, but I can try, if you want. Um. Exclusive rights?” 

“Exclusive rights...to...your ass?” Steve asked, and aww hell, that had to be deliberate. 

Goddamn him and his mouth. He’d thought that Aunt Peggy had been joking when she’d called him a bit smart (“just like you, Tony”). “That-- yep. I mean, not in demand right now, so, doesn't make much bones--” 

Steve was really, big. Yeah. Wow. His hand, also huge and gentle, closed over Tony's and took the mangled donut box off him. 

“I think we’ll leave the ownership to you. Keep this between pals, yeah?” 

Something clicked in Tony's head, putting Steve in the same category as Rhodey. “Friends who fuck?”

Steve nodded, grinning with one side of his face. “Friends who fuck. As long as we include some more episodes of Battlestar Galactica.”

Tony nodded, “I think I can work with that, Cap,” he said putting on a smile. 

So what if Cap didn’t want strings? He probably had lots of offers, what had made him think that he was going to pick–well pick Tony? Tony fixed his smile on further.

“So Cap, tell me what you thoughts about Commander Adama?” he said as they walked out the door.

“I thought he was interesting, reminded me of some higher-ups I knew during the war. I really liked President Roslin though and Starbuck, what a spitfire…”


	2. Macaroni and Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda to IM3.

_You’ve reached Tony Stark; since I’m no longer CEO of Stark Industries you should really be calling Pepper since I’m probably off enjoying the beach and the babes. You can leave a message but I probably won’t get back to you._

_Hey Tony, I heard about Mr. Hogan, give me a call if you need backup, okay? Keep safe._

_Aww hell, Tony! That is not what I meant! Look, I'm getting on the plane in an hour, I'll get on comms as soon as I get in range. Guys like this don't like being taunted, Tony, be careful._

_Hi Tony. Pepper and Hansen are safe, they went to a motel. I’ve been helping the team sift through the rubble. We’re going to find you, I promise._

_Tony! Where the fuck are you? You can’t just disappear after your house gets blown up!_

_Hey, uh... Sorry for all the messages, Tony, I must be blocking up your inbox. Well, actually you probably have an unlimited voicemail box… I just, I miss your voice. I can’t seem to stop calling. Every time I think you might pick up and then I hear your voice and every time it’s the recording... Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble. Um, I called to ask if you’re free a week from Saturday? Figured it was about time I repaid my donut debt. Let me know if you’re, uh, if you’re free, okay? If you are alive to get this, you better be free, or I'll-- I'll kick your butt, OK?_  

AES:IM[59∆Phi]: Hey, whoever gets this. JARVIS is down, and... Shit, this is fucked up. I fucked up bad. I'm following a lead in Tennessee, there's a wooden Indian, and it was really fucking racist-- I stole his poncho? but I never should have dragged anyone else into this. Pep, I'm so sorry. Talk to Maya, she's-- there's something going on there. Tell Steve... Fuck. I don't know, I can't fucking drop this on him. I'll be back, soon. Hopefully.

_Tennessee, Tony!? JARVIS got in touch, but he's sick, I can't make much sense of him. Tony... I, we found the bots. You gotta come fix them. You gotta come home safe, Tony._

_Iron Man, I’m glad to hear that you and the President are safe. Please report back to Avengers Tower for debriefing at your earliest convenience._  

\--

Tony only got his messages when he managed to get JARVIS running healthily again, and listened with a semipermanent wince.  

“Okay. JARV, take a break, run whatever you want for a bit and defrag.” 

“Of course sir. Take care to get some rest yourself, also.”

“Sure, sounds thrilling.”

Harley's comment about medication popped up again, the kid’s voice echoing, and Tony took his tablet with him. He needed to be able to work on Extremis without getting distracted by nightmares and bullshit anxiety. Could he take a Xanax?

The thought made him shudder, and he closed the WebMD tab in favor of going back to the Extremis code.

\--

Steve looked up as the door clicked open.

“Tony!” He couldn't seem to stop from smiling despite the worry swirling around in his stomach when he saw the red and gold armour.

“Hello, Captain,” came the smooth, robotic tones. “You said you wanted me to come back for debrief.”

The visor remained firmly down and the title grated. Steve’s spine straightened and he stood up. He’d thought that they’d moved beyond this, that the movie nights and the nights together had meant more than this but if this was how Tony was going to throw the ball, then Steve would go up to the plate and hit it right back. 

“Iron Man, report.”

Steve wondered if he imagined the flinch that shook over Tony’s armour but he stood firm in spite of it.

Tony folded, the suit shivering and folding back so he could step out. He didn't make eye contact and Steve was glad; he was ashamed that it felt like a victory and schooled his face. Tony sauntered to the bar, the suit closing and powering back up behind him, but he moved stiffly. He had taken a beating, it was obvious. Hadn't taken the time to shower or sleep before coming up from Miami, either.  

“What’s the President's status?”

Steve waited for a response but instead Tony seemed to be throwing items and alcohol into a blender.

“Iron Man,” Steve repeated, now steely.

Tony held up a hand before the sound of the blender roared to life. Steve clenched his fists, working hard not to crack the back of the couch.

Finally the blender cut off.

“Well,” came Tony’s mocking voice. “I prevented an assassination attempt on the President of the United States,” he started pouring the mixture into glasses, back still infuriatingly turned away. “And I stopped a man who was experimenting on American soldiers without their informed consent. Would have thought that would be your thing, Capisicle?” Tony turned, one glass at his lips and another in his hand, “Strawberry daiquiri?” 

Underneath Steve’s hands the couch back started to creak alarmingly but he couldn't bring himself to care.

“You infiltrated the Mandarin’s base without the armour or backup,” he pointed out, uninterested in fucking ridiculous drinks, “You provoked a terrorist attack-”

“To be fair he was a fake terrorist,” Tony said as he took another sip of his drink, a second, nominally Steve’s, on the bar behind him.

Steve forced his voice to stabilize, “–Provoked a terrorist attack on American soil endangering yourself and an unknown number of civilians! Not to mention jeopardizing our national security and the entire Avengers Initiative.”

Tony drank, eyes flicking to Steve's with a flash of irritation. “Oops. Guess I’ll let the President be assassinated and a puppet installed in his place next time. Wouldn't want to endanger national security or anything,” he said with a final sip of the drink. “Well if that’s everything–”

“You should have called for backup!”

“How could I? I was stranded in the middle of buttfucking nowhere–”

“How about when Happy almost _died?!_ Doing Natasha's job!”

“Killian invited Pepper out for drinks, not kidnapping and non-consensual body mods, how the fuck was I supposed to know to call you in! I had half an hour between the hospital and the attack, they were already on their fucking way, Steve.”

Steve groaned and rubbed his temple; they were getting nowhere, he needed to know what’d _happened_. He struggled to get a hold on the snarl in his chest and failed spectacularly. “So you somehow managed to track the Mandarin and couldn't pick up a damn phone? Tony, we thought you were dead! I thought we’d moved beyond that!”

“What, you thought a few good rolls in the hay meant I was your boyfriend or something? That wasn't what you said when we started.  Haven't you heard, Rogers? I’ll fuck anything that moves.”

Steve twitched back violently, _the fuck?_ “I don't have to be your boyfriend to care about your safety! I’d do the same for anyone in the Initiative. We’re here to get your back when shit like this happens. Natasha'd been on this case since the broadcasts started, and I was literally _on the damn plane!_ ” 

Tony takes another drink and Steve hates that he won't even look at him.

“Damnit, Tony, why do you have to be so damn reckless? I was fucking wrong, okay?! You don't have to keep gutting yourself to prove that, just cut the wire! First the portal, now this, we need you alive--”

Tony had started to shake, his eyes wide and staring off into the Manhattan skyline unseeingly. The glass in his hand fell, throwing off shards of morning sunlight and bounced once before it shattered against the floor with a bright crash.

Tony stumbled into the bar top, his hand sliding on the slick granite and knocking the other glass over; his face had gone gray, his eyes all brown, no pupil left at all. Steve vaulted over the coffee table and caught Tony by the shoulder, before he could crash into the glass shelves behind the bar, and pulled him away from the glass shards all over the floor. They went down together in a much safer pile in the patch of sun beside the bar. 

Tony was shaking-- the reactor, he had his hands braced over the reactor, there was something wrong with it-- “Tony, what do I do? Tony!”

Tony's free hand latched onto Steve's shirt and he found himself on his back in a tight hold, Tony pressed painfully hard against his chest. 

“I’m fine, I'm okay, ‘m fine-- it's just a thing, I do now. Oh God, don't say the-- the thing in the sky, don't mention--”

“The portal?”

Tony jerked, his head smacking against Steve's collarbone. “I said don't! Don't _say_ it! 

“ Are you... Having a flashback? In broad daylight?” Steve asked, horrified.

“Panic attack, just, just...fucking shut up and let me--”

Tony took a huge breath against Steve's sternum and clung. Steve hesitantly returned the hug and squeezed some of the shaking out of Tony's shoulders. Their legs were all tangled, and Steve’d knocked his tailbone in favour of keeping Tony off the marble, but having Tony alive and warm in his lap, heart hammering fiercely against Steve's chest... The burning in his chest started to die down.

“I'm still angry with you,” he grumbled, shifting so their legs weren't quite so uncomfortable.

Tony nodded silently. 

“I did get your message. Eventually.”

Tony snorted, jabbing him in the hip with an elbow.

“No secure channels left, huh?” Steve hazarded to guess.

“JARVIS was sick,” Tony grumbled, relaxing incrementally until he was thoroughly limp on Steve's front.

“I'm sorry for yelling.” He dug his fingers into Tony's hair and rubbed at his nape. He was filthy, damp with sweat, but Steve didn't care in the slightest. “Is Pepper okay?”

Tony shook his head and _WOW, guilt._ Steve's chest ached even worse, jheese, he'd been such an ass. “She's infected with Extremis. Got a handle on it, but I need to get into the lab, fabricate a non-exothermic version.”

“Exothermic?” Steve asked in trepidation.

“Explosive.”

“Well... Shit.”

 “Watch your mouth,” Tony grumbled, finally peeling himself up onto has hands and knees.

“You look out for the glass, okay?” Steve replied, steadying him with a palm when he listed to the left. His wrist was wrapped in clean support bandages, it was the only clean thing on him. Oh, no, except for the butterfly bandaged cut near his eye. _Damnit Rogers, pay attention._

“I got it.” 

They got to their feet in an awkward shuffle, staying away from the mess and ending up in an upright version of the same position when Steve can't resist crushing Tony to his chest.

“I was _worried_ , you ass.”

“Me too, Steve. He was in my _building_. J was down, Happy's still in hospital--”

Steve took a deep breath, with his eyes closed. Right. Of course, _don't be self-centered now, Rogers_. “Okay, alright. What do you need?” he asked, shaking out the cobwebs in his brain.

Tony blinked and leaned back, and Steve struggled to let him go even that far. He saw the gears begin to turn and managed a weak smile; Tony nodded decisively.

“The lab, a clean room, sterile kit-- ah, a shower...”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Tony looked blank, mouth open to answer but not actually making sound.

“Alright, go shower, I’ll make you macaroni and cheese for when you're scrubbed up, keep you going long enough to fix it.” _And to apologise for being an ass._ “No donuts like I promised, I’m afraid.”

Tony managed a shaky smile at that and Steve’s heart swelled a little.

“Mac and cheese still sounds pretty good, Cap. Raincheck on the donuts?”

Steve breathed. “Donuts and a movie?”

Tony stopped in his tracks. “Yeah,” Steve watched as some of the tension left his body. “But only if I get to pick, old man. If I leave you to your own devices we’ll spend the whole night watching Cary Grant.”

“Deal,” Steve said softly, unable to stop to small grin that lit up his face.

_\--_

 Tony practically inhaled the macaroni and cheese with its thick cheesy sauce between working on Extremis, a rarity in Steve's experience. The delight that caused was perhaps not entirely appropriate but the way Tony's cheeks slowly regained their colour couldn't help but warn Steve's.

A couple of hours later, Steve watched Pepper cry into Tony's shoulder, through the observation glass of the clean room. She was grinning with relief, too, and looking not a day older than twenty five.

When they emerged, leaning against each other like drunken standing stones, they both had identical expressions of euphoric exhaustion. Pepper, sweaty and glowing in a strictly metaphorical sense, greeted him with a brilliant smile.

“Captain, it's good to see you, I'm sorry I missed our rendezvous.”

Steve hunched a little, guiltily. “I should have gone with you, or posted a guard--”

“Steve, you had no idea whether you were going to find Tony under all that rubble; you had to stay.”

He didn't feel any better for it, but he nodded anyway. “Will you be staying? At least until the house is rebuilt?”

Tony's too exhausted for more than a squinty, suspicious look, so Pepper answered instead. “Yes, Iron Man has some sleep to catch up on, and then a surgery to plan.”

She looked somehow thrilled, rather than gut-clenchingly terrified, which was the sensible reaction that Steve was having.

Tony waved a hand between them dismissively. “Got an opportunity, before we destroy Extremis.” He tapped the reactor with a knuckle, his face swinging from elation to terror and back around to satisfaction. “Gotta get rid of this thing while I can.”

Steve didn’t know what that meant, how it would change Iron Man's design, but then, Tony would have to rebuild anyway--

It had to be a good thing, the reactor was such a big object, it would be a good thing. Steve relaxed slowly, looking between them. “Okay, great. You can tell me all about it after you've slept.”

Pepper noded at him and...shoved Tony in his general direction. 

“Alright, Ms Potts?”

“I can handle myself, him? _Him_ you need to pour into bed personally.” She nudged them towards the elevator. “Be good, Tony. And... Thank you.”


	3. Ragù

**SGR:**  
You ever heard of a satellite launch ship,  
designation ‘Lemurian Star’? 

**AES:**  
Is this a trick question?  

**SGR:**  
?? No? 

**AES:**  
Because I actually build satellites, and  
keep track of launches and that?  
Not one of them.

**SGR** :  
Huh.

**AES:**  
What? Don’t you give me that,  
explain yourself, you ass.

**SGR:**  
G2g talk to a man about a satellite  
launch ship.

**AES:**  
Damnit, Rogers!

Steve. I will hack your phone, I s2g.

Fucking SHIELD, we had a  
contract for satnav. If their piece-of-shit  
sats--

Steve. Nat sent me some data.

Steve.

Steeeeve.

_`[#RUN:mount -o rw,remount -t yaffs2 /dev/block/mtdblock3 /system]` _

_`[flash_image recovery recovery.img]` _

_`[cat recovery.img > /system/recovery.img]` _

Ugh, I can see your over-use of  
emoticons from here, why do i never  
get smiley faces.

_`[@Override protected void onCreate(Bundle savedInstanceState) {super.onCreate(savedInstanceState);setContentView(R.layout.activity_gps__location);]` _

Indian ocean, Steve? WHY. Go home,  
it is past your bedtime.

**SGR:**  
Because you use talk-to-type,  
Also, because Batroc ze Leaper.

On my bike, have yelled at Fury,  
did u know they are building three  
carriers w/ ur engine design? 

**AES:**  
What-- No seriously, what the hell?  
Do not text and ride motorcycle. Also.  
Where does Fury get the budget for  
this shit?

**SGR:**  
Someone’s in my apartment, I’ll get  
back to you.

**AES:**  
Okay. You have had five minutes for  
booty call, Steve. 

Steve.

It was a booty-call right?

You shouldn’t give people without  
security clearance your keys, Steve.

**SGR:**  
Did you keep a back door?

**AES:**  
What?

Did you just get _arrested?!_

Do you need bail??

Is that _STRIKE?_  

**SGR:**  
its all coming apart rumlow is hydra  
and buckys

**AES:**  
i need that back door i know you  
kept one to the carriers

talk to Maria, i have to go out of signal

Natasha’s hurt ill call you when i get a  
second

`[Call from: CAPSICLE duration;{26:39}]`

`[CALL ENDED]`

`[Call from: UNKNOWN duration;{03:21}]`

`[CALL ENDED]`

**AES:**  
Steve, do you need me to come up there?

Do not make me come get you, Captain.

Right. That’s it. I’m coming up. That  
fucking suit isn’t bulletproof, it’s literally  
older than I am, you...

Damn it Steve, the targeting bug’s ready,  
I’m sending it over.

Stay safe.

`[Filetransfer:COMPLETE]`

 

* * *

 

There was beeping in the background and the smell of disinfectant filled his nose, making it burn.

_Beep._

_..._

_Beep._

Not like the kind that would cling to mom’s clothes, though.

_Beep._

Like…

_Beep._

Someone’s lab?

_Beep._

Not the one that smelled like oil and metal (and _home_ , warm skin, smiles, coffee…)

_Beep._

The other one. Not... Not as nice, he wanted Tony, and, god...cocoa or mocha, something to take the smell out of his nose.

_Beep._

He squirmed and the pain shot through, him burning up through his stomach and into his shoulder. Then nothing.

 

* * *

 

There was a dull ache. That smell covering up anything else, horrid and sharp.

“Sorry, man, you’re burning through the meds. I’ll get you another drip, okay?”

_safe voice_. Sam?

“You were pretty beaten up, you know? Tony’s been sweeping the Potomac for your shield. Says it’s for his repulsor tech but he’s not fooling anyone…”

Something clattered, then something flopped against his arm and Sam made a vague reassuring noise.

Cotton and a humm like a waterfall filled his head as the pain faded away and Steve went back to sleep to the sound of Sam’s music.

 

* * *

 

Steve groaned. Everything hurt, with patches of bright, hot pain that could only be bullet holes. Even his _mouth_ hurt, and that was usually the first to heal. Someone’d let the drugs slip, a vague memory of a nurse talking about him surfaced and slipped away again, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to wake up this much. If only because it _fucking hurt._ Each breath pulled at his stomach with a sensation like tearing, so he tried to keep them shallow, hoping he wasn’t messing up his shiny new scar tissue-- unless they’d used stitches? He _hated_ stitches, they always healed over and had to be cut out-- maybe there was something better now, though, hadn’t Tony said...

_\--living in the Future, Cap, we’ve got all the toys._

Damn, when had been the last time he’d been laid up for so long? That ambush in Italy? Silk stitches were awful coming out. Not as bad as this, though, he wanted ice, or more sleeping pills, just to get away from it.

He tried to shift his shoulders onto the pillow, make breathing less of a chore, but the pain that shot through his abdomen convinced him it was a bad idea. The room swam around him; he must have nearly bled out, he hadn’t been dizzy since... well. There was that thing Tony did, but that wasn’t this. He’d trade in a heartbeat though.

His eyes fluttered. It was dark except for the gaps in the blinds, stark black and white stripes of light that wavered like they were twisting. They wouldn’t have left him alone, would they? He struggled to take a deeper breath, calm down. They really wouldn’t’ve. And if he couldn’t see them, then...

“N-nat?” he tried. His mouth was dry and stiff with bruises, pain throbbing from molar to ear on the left side.

“I’m here.” She was behind him, on what’s now his bad side again. He could hear just fine but there was that fucking ringing in his left ear, damn. He’d thought he’d left that behind in 1939.

“...’s goin on?”

“With you?”

He leveled an unsteady glare in her direction, which lasted a measly two seconds before he had to close his eyes again. Besides, it was dark anyway. “You cut off my drugs?”

“Just the sedative.” Figured. He snorted inelegantly at her to continue. “I need to go. They’re gonna call me before the Senate, I’ve got shit to do before then.”

Steve frowned and it ached all the way up to the top of his head. “You got backup? Clint?”

“Not now. I’ll take Sam, after the hearings. We’re gonna pull as many agents as we can, see...”

“Who’s Hydra.” The beeping in the background stuttered; oops. “Check the Fridge. One man’s storage facility...”

“The other guy’s larder. We’re on it.” A rattle of plastic against metal. “Tony’d kill me if I kept you up any longer, I just... Thought you ought to know before I go. We can keep an eye out. If you want.”

Concussion-fractured recollections of drowning made his heart rate climb again. “He saved me. He’s in there, Nat, just gotta find him. Please...”

His head was swimming worse, and his eyes wouldn’t even blink open for a second.

“I know. ...I’ve been there, I’ll get him home for you.”

Her voice echoed like a choir just out of time, and he let go of his hard-fought breath, relaxing back into sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, I hear that someone’s been burning through their meds faster than the nurses can change them.” Smooth, warm voice; coffee and machine oil. Tony.

Steve felt his face creak as he smiled, he tried to open his eyes too but gave it up as too much effort when it felt like half the Potomac had gotten in them. Resting was easier by far, especially now Tony was here. He didn’t hurt exactly, but he was aware his body hurting...somewhere over there. The slightest movement could have him toppling off the pain killer cloud. No need to risk that. Tony was on lookout. _See? ‘m not the reckless one here, Buck, you enlisted first._

“Bucky!” Adrenaline flashed. What the hell was he _saying_?! He needed to join the search, _now_. Vague recollections of a conversation with Nat struggled to make themselves heard over the roar of the helicarriers guns. He opened his eyes and the bright light almost blinded him, his sharp jerk upwards sending searing pain through his stomach.

The instant, crippling pain dropped him back to the mattress, jaw clenched with the effort of staying quiet.

He screwed his eyes shut and tried to take shallow breaths, his hand fluttering over the bullet hole. He wanted to press on it, instinct said that blood had to be rushing out of him, the pain was so intense, but– but he was in hospital, that couldn’t be right.

“Hey, take it easy, supersoldier,” came Tony’s voice as he laid a firm hand on Steve’s right shoulder. “Nat and Sam are working on it, you spoke to her last night, remember?”

“He recognized me, Tony… Know he did. If he doesn’t want to be found, how they gonna find him…” Gosh his voice was reedy and weak; familiar from a different era. His abdomen stabbed at him with every syllable. Had they done stitches or let it scar up? Stitches were always awful, taking too long to dissolve. He hoped he hadn’t torn anything, didn’t feel like it. Didn’t matter though, he was getting up.

Tony smoothed down Steve’s hospital gown, letting the warmth of his hand seep into him; it felt ...good. Had he been cold? Distracted, Steve shivered and that was _awful._ Not doing that again.

“Nat’s the best in the business, Steve, you know that and I hear that your boy Sam isn’t half bad either.” Tony’s fingers found his, and yeah, maybe he wasn’t in the peak of fitness; his fingertips were numb. “You’re in no shape to go chasing down Bucky. Give it a couple more days and the docs will release you, ‘k? You can join up with Nat and Sam and look for Bucky then.”

Steve let out a calming breath, stomach shuddering as it stretched whatever was under the bandage. He’d better not need to cough, he realised how fucking awful that would be. Slowly the adrenaline subsided, and the heartache underneath it made his eyes sting. Damn it, but Tony was right; he couldn’t even sit up. Even his advanced healing couldn’t fix a gut wound in less than a couple of days. Civilians would be in bed for the better part of a month after a bullet to the stomach, not counting all the physio they’d have to do after. He could wait the extra couple of days and join the chase, help destroy HYDRA. Wasn’t like he’d be any use to them in this state.

Another breath. Tony was still rubbing his shoulder. Steve did his best to relax, suddenly jaw-droppingly tired.

“Thanks, Steve,” said Tony softly. Steve felt a small niggle of guilt. Tony sounded tired, worn down. Soon, his capable hands were pulling all the leads back into place, fingers hot as they smoothed tape down and neatened his IV.

“How’s the pain?”

Steve grimaced.

“Yeah, yeah, not my fault you decided to go all Clint on me.” Tony sounded better. Not quite so worried as he fell into his familiar teasing.

Steve let out a little huff. Wasn’t like Tony was any better.

“Now as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…”

Steve couldn’t help but let out a soft smile at that even if it pulled at his healing lip. Nat and Sam were good operatives. They’d be fine on their own for a couple of days. Steve would focus on recovery. He’d be back in the field finding Bucky and hunting HYDRA in no time. He repeated the thought a couple of times to himself, firmly.

“... Bruce and I ran some tests to calculate how fast you’re metabolizing the various drugs and then I programmed the drip to…”

It wasn’t so much a decision as a feeling that made him tip his head over a touch towards Tony. He wanted him to know that he was listening. It didn’t matter that Tony could talk to himself for hours, he should always have someone listening to his brilliance, his quick mind. Now that he lived part-time at the tower, one of Steve’s favourite places to work was down on the couch in the workshop. Tony’s chatter, to himself and to the bots, always made Steve smile, filling the space in his head that had never grown accustomed to the silence of modern soundproofing.

“... the problem is that your body adapts to the drug faster than usual so we set up some models…”

A warm hand enclosed his, calloused but slender fingered. Steve let out a small hum of approval.

“...I wrote an AI, only a little one; just a baby, really, runs on a Stwatch, who’ll monitor the flow rate and your vital signs and adjust the bore accordingly. It’ll learn your normal--”

Between one moment and the next, Steve fell asleep to the sound of Tony’s lovely voice.

 

* * *

 

“Steve, hey... I’m just, I have to head out to the hearing, okay?”

Steve rolled his head in Tony’s direction, pleasantly hazy. The light was the dim, pale blue of early morning and Tony looked a million bucks. Steve didn’t want him to go anywhere. His fingers eventually told him that Tony was holding his hand, which was nice, so he gripped it so Tony couldn’t leave.

“...’s not okay. Th’re assholes,” he grumbled, vaguely remembering a bit of footage from ages ago.

“Well, they arrested Stern, so it’s down one assclown. I’ll be fine. Sam’s coming in a minute to keep an eye on you.”

Steve squinted up at him. “...how m’ny drugs ‘m I on?”

Tony looked embarrassed, shifty, and lifted Steve’s hand to fiddle with his fingers, getting them good and tangled. Steve approved. “Most of them?”

Steve frowned, which had the unfortunate side effect of closing his eyes. “Th’ b’tter be a f’gure of speech.”

“Spock’s working over time-- the AI, say hi, babe,” Tony ordered, and a rising trill sounded from the bedside machines. “--to balance pain and liver function and-- well, it’s complicated, but normal doses don’t work on you, so. Cocktails it is.”

“...kay. Hey Spock. Good...good job...”

Tony said goodbye reluctantly, the words lost in the kiss he pressed to Steve’s forehead and Steve registered Sam’s arrival through a fog of sedatives.

 

* * *

 

Tony’s AI had him off the sedatives the next day in favour of a dizzying cocktail of painkillers. He was lucid enough to talk to his doctor though, and request that his stitches come out; the doctor was horrified and refused. Apparently they would dissolve in due time, and even if Steve was healed before then, he could suck it up. Steve, flat on the bed and disconcerted by the way his gut was requesting food then denying it, tried to marvel at the advancement of modern medicine and failed.

He was able to raise the front of the bed up a bit the day after that, with Tony fluttering around the bed, restrained only by the firm patience of the nurses who were caring for Steve. They clearly had lots of experience with worried friends and family. Steve couldn’t help but smile at each of them and ask about their day. They reminded him so much of his mother, each in different ways. Unfortunately, they’d each sussed him out pretty quick as a result and kept guilting him into following the many instructions and limits that he’d been assigned.

He had his first round of physio the next morning, the therapist kind but ruthless. It had been both embarrassing and excruciatingly painful; he was glad he’d managed to kick his friends out before hand. Normally, Steve could bench press over 1,200 lbs but even the little ankle flexes and points felt draining and painful, not to mention the knee lifts. By the time they finished, Steve was a tremoring mess. He had to restrain a reflexive groan when the physiotherapist cheerfully told him that they’d go for a walk tomorrow and work on some twists.

He wanted nothing more than to be back on his feet, really, but not even Spock could make getting there a pleasant experience. The StarkPad that Tony had given him was entertaining for a while but there were only so many TV shows he could watch before he went legitimately stir crazy. Looking over reports and news wasn’t much better and he’d already beaten most of the decent puzzle games he could find. At least the physiotherapy had given way to bone-deep exhaustion. Steve was asleep like a log less than fifteen minutes after she’d left him, tablet still in hand.

The solid rest left him feeling much more like the supersoldier he was supposed to be. Someone had rescued his tablet and left it on the bedside table but he left it there while he took a quick look under his bandage. The bullet craters were starting to go pink, the scabs falling off in favour of the fragile new skin underneath.

Physio the next morning was a mission, his muscles sore and even more stiff from yesterday. She had him sitting up and bringing his knees to his chest, but Berta brought him honest to god actual _food_ afterwards, and then he got to _stand_ and _walk_ a bit. Things were looking up, even if it was just spaghetti hoops and toilet breaks. His stomach protested a little but it was worth it; the brain fog cleared for a while and he was glad, even if it made him even antsier to get on with the mission.

He just needed–he itched to just do something, anything; he felt completely useless like this. Now that he was awake more, he had fewer visitors; he couldn’t justify their presence when there were still operatives out there reeling from having their cover blown. According to Nat’s reports she and Sam hadn’t had any sightings of Bucky yet, but they’d already dismantled one of the bases and seen traces that Bucky had been there before them. Tony was off analyzing the dumped data and coordinating the remnants of SHIELD, which left him on his own again. God damn isolation was getting at him.

A long string of emails and CC’s from JARVIS kept him in the loop. Sort of. He had to fight the urge to try and backseat drive the ops every time he got a report. He couldn’t actually do it any better --he’d never have thought to look for pickpockets, for one, and he _knew_ Buck was a little shit-- and Nat wouldn’t appreciate it, that was for damn sure but it didn’t stop him from wanting to. Tony had sent him some reports but only on the small ops. They barely took any of his brain which left far too much to worry about Bucky.

“Hey, Cap! Gotcha an update,” someone called, bumping his way in the door.

“Hey Sam. How’re we doing?”

Sam dropped a fat box of folders onto the table. “Well, JARVIS’ bitching about all the hard copy, so you’re on scanner duty.”

Steve perked up, he couldn’t help it, and hauled himself to sitting with the electric bed’s help. “Scanner?”

“Your phone will do it, J’ll pop up a tutorial,” he said, dumping folders out of the box. “Nat’s got a lead off the raid; Bucky’s going after one of the technicians, or possibly just their toolkit, it’s hard to tell. We’re gonna try and get there in time to back him up, but we’ve gotta find out where that is first, so.”

Steve nodded; it was a very promising lead and his heart picked up, washing away some of the sleepy, frustrated fug.

Spock whirred and beeped in irritation, and something in his IV changed, batting back the ache from sitting up. Good AI, have a biscuit.

“Okay, what am I looking for?” Steve asked, flipping the first folder open and spinning his phone the right way up with the other.

“Drug names, pharma suppliers and order dates,” Sam said, looking suspiciously at the phone. “We need an idea of what shit they had him on, how much and how often, give ‘Spock’ the data to analyse, and it’ll pass it along to me.”

Steve’s gut clenched painfully at the thought. Fuck he hadn’t even considered–

“If he’s anything like you, it won’t make a damn difference in a week’s time, but if he’s gonna go into withdrawal _tomorrow_ , it’s important.”

“I got it, Sam. Get lost, follow your lead, we got this.”

Sam went, but not before giving Steve a comforting shoulder squeeze.

He scanned the whole box, digitally and manually, and sent the data to Spock. The AI was royally pissed at him, and slugged him with a heavy dose of ‘lie the fuck down’ sedatives while it processed.

Steve was almost grateful; some of the things in there even he recognised; cocaine, heroin, amphetamines... There were hints that there were stores in the arm, too, and that made Steve’s head swim. They didn’t even know if Bucky _could_ get addicted, and look at him, three days out from a gut shot, and already walking to the bathroom. He’d be out in another few days.

Once, this kind of bedrest would have been nothing; back then it had taken taken him three times as long to get over a cold that Bucky would shake off in a day. But, he’d had Buck sitting on him half the time, and the serum had spoiled him since.

He couldn’t help the way his heart jumped a little at thoughts of Bucky, and the beep the AI gave when it happened always made him grumble. But he had lots of thoughts about Bucky, it’d have to get used to it. He’d had to rearrange his entire head to make space for the idea that Bucky was _alive_ , let alone all the crap he’d been through. The files from Camp Lehigh, all perfectly preserved by his photographic memory– he broke his plastic cup into splinters at the thought. _Fuck_ , Bucky was gonna be tearing himself up inside.

He was gonna need Steve, like Steve’d needed him after he came out of the ice. Not being near each other was a gaping hole in his side, and Steve knew exactly what that felt like, okay? He could reach him, he knew that he’d managed to up there on the Helicarrier. He just needed to work out the right thing to say, the right thing that would get Bucky to back to him.

He slept a bit, after chucking the plastic pieces off the bed in a fit of pique, and didn’t so much dream as keep thinking in his sleep. About Bucky, about SHIELD, and about Tony, about the Insight gun pointing at everything he knew and loved, and Hydra forcing Bucky to pull the trigger.

Eventually, he gave up and blinked sleepily up at the ceiling for an unknown and embarrassing length of time, wondering if he could convince Spock that he was vitamin D deficient, and thus needed to go out in the sun, stat.

Finally, familiar footsteps stopped in front of his door, handing off something, possibly coffee, to the guards.

Steve did his best to look like he’d been resting and not plotting escape from the hospital. Besides, Steve had discovered the hard way that Tony’s little medical AI was very sensitive, --Tony called it ‘abandonment issues’ but it was a damn flight alarm-- to time away from it when you didn’t have a nurse or doctor with you. Or your vital signs didn’t meet certain criteria. It allowed Steve to hobble to the washroom but even then it bitched until he took the watch it lived in along with. Tony was even better at telling when Steve was feeling especially stir crazy and much as Steve wanted to bitch at him about it, even drugged up it was impossible to miss how dark the shadows under Tony’s eyes had been growing.

“Come in,” said Steve just as Tony raised his hand to knock. He tried to ignore that his voice was still hoarse; clearing his throat was still unbelievably uncomfortable.

Tony was all grins as he backed into the room, pushing the door open with his ass and thanking the guard for something Steve didn’t catch. He turned as the guard shut the door behind him and sang ‘Tada!’

His arms were full to bursting with takeout containers and the smell of garlic and tomato made Steve’s mouth water, instantly.

“I heard that you’ve graduated to solids so I thought I’d bring you a treat,” Tony said, pulling boxes out of their bags with a flourish and setting them on the lap table. “Allow me to introduce you to _Babbo_ , one of the city’s best Italian _ristorantes_.”

“It smells amazing,” replied Steve. It seemed like it had been ages since he’d had anything but bland food. Life on the run had not been glamourous.

“I’ve been meaning to bring you here ever since you told me about your eleventh birthday. There are hipper places in Manhattan but Babbo’s a real classic.” Tony’s smile was almost overwhelming in its brightness.

Another knock sounded on the door and Tony turned, quick as a whip, almost running to the door. A quick thanks and Tony pressed some money into the woman’s hand as she passed over yet another bag.

With Tony’s back turned, Steve took a second to gather his energy, trying to sit up a little straighter, feel a little more human. His heartrate kicked up as he pushed it a little too far for his current painkillers and he eased himself back into the pillows before Tony could catch him at it.

Spock gave a little worried warble and Steve patted its support strut, whispering, “Tony’s just whipped up something really special, you know? Don’t wanna let him down.” Spock gave a suspicious descending beep before it reluctantly stopped flashing just in time for Tony to turn, the second bag now in hand. A moment later, a bright white tablecloth was pulled from the bag, spread out with a flourish and topped with delicate ceramic plates.

Tony’s smile was so bright it almost lit up the room but...only almost. Steve was still feeling Bucky’s resurrection like a wine glass balanced on his chest; move too fast, _breathe_ too deep, and it would shatter. He didn’t _want_ to spend their date thinking about Bucky, not when it was all he’d thought about for the past three days! Plus, Tony looked as tired as he felt, so Steve worked on trying to match his smile before he noticed that Steve’s heart was missing. He didn’t want Tony to think that he wasn’t appreciating all the effort that he’d put into this, because he did, it was just that he couldn’t string two thoughts together without Bucky bullying his way into them.

“All right, gorgeous, close your eyes,” Tony instructed, shuffling the boxes into some mysterious order.

Steve took it like an out and covered his face with his hands, concealing the heartache.

“These people are amazing, I swear, if their chef ever retires? I’m going to take him on as a hobby chef.”

Something delicately floral and acidic flavoured the air as Tony cracked open one of the packages and his stomach rumbled. He’d just focus on the food, and on his fella; he’d be fine. Tony had great taste.

“All their pasta is made fresh so I had Happy gun it on the way over. Yeah, yeah don’t make that face at me.” Steve did his best to look innocent. At least Tony had driven, and not _flown_. “Or that one. You could charm the clothes of the pope with that one. You ever had fresh pasta before? It’s like silk, you’ll love it.”

Another crack and there was the source of the garlic and tomato scent, accented with the scent of rich, slow cooked meat. Mrs. Aliberti used to be able to turn the cheapest cut at the butcher into the most wonderful stew and it’d smelled a little bit like that. She’d always been good for a bowl overflowing with tomatoes and shining with dripping when she’d seen Steve. Bucky was a whole ‘nother story, more likely to get chased off like a tomcat than get dinner.

Steve took a breath, bracing himself for the cold memory and let it trundle through him; Bucky whining about unfair treatment, smiling like the sun was up in midwinter. She’d never once folded, not until the day Buck’s sister died... The memory of Mrs. Alberti’s complaints about Bucky, even while she fed him his first hot meal since the news came, made his eyes sting with gratitude. What he wouldn’t do to give Bucky that again, right now.

Tony’s chattering was an ongoing phenomenon, describing how he’d found the place, his favorites. Even lamenting that they only made his favourites in season. Steve hadn’t really thought seasons existed anymore, what with all the exotic fruit all year ‘round.

After the next pop of opening tupperware, the most amazing smell rose on a waft of steamy air. Gosh, and that was steak and potatoes, had to be, and Tony was waving it right under his nose. The growl that broke out of Steve’s stomach was embarrassing, it really was.

Tony’s hands came on to his and pulled them away from his eyes, his fingers much warmer than Steve’s and smelling like tomato sauce and basil.

Steve blinked up at Tony’s soft smile, then returned it genuinely this time. This he could do; Tony’s affection, and good, hearty food. This was exactly what he needed.

Tony had lowered the lights to a comfy gloom, and lit a small tea light in a glass, which flickered charmingly on his tray; a much warmer and more intimate light than the overheads. For the first time since he’d found Nick in his apartment, he didn’t feel like he was being watched, not even for his own good. He turned his hand in Tony’s and squeezed gratefully. Yeah, okay, this was good, this was _perfect_.

The tray-table itself was unrecognizable under the fine linen and glistening plates. The food… Steve hadn’t had food so pretty ever before. There was a delicate tower of sliced tomatoes and mozzarella drizzled with a cheerful green herb suspended in oil. At the other end was a massive steak and an equally massive pile of roast potatoes, the glossy dark sauce in its own little container. Nestled in between were the promised ribbons of silky pasta, dressed with meat so tender it was falling apart and dripping down the slope of the mound.

“So, what do you think?” Tony asked, anxiously. Steve looked up to see Tony rocking between feet, his grin a touch too big. God, was he honestly nervous? He must have taken hundreds of fellas and gals out and besides, they’d had dinner plenty of times, everywhere from a diner to a Michelin restaurant, both before and after Extremis. Before and after deciding to be...this. Together.

Steve managed a small but sincere smile. “I think it looks perfect.”

“Good, good,” Tony said, finally relaxing. “That’s good.”

There was a pause, silence stretching in the face of all this perfect food. It was almost a shame to start on it, and mess up the carefully guarded presentation. He could see why Tony’d brought it in the car, after all.

“Do you want to sit down–” Steve started,

“Go ahead and eat–” Tony said at the same moment.

They both stopped and Steve coughed, suddenly tired and with no idea where to start. He gestured at the chair next to him. “Seems only fair to split it.”

“I’ll have you know that the ribeye’s supposed to be for two, muscleman,” but Tony sat down anyways. The moment he touched the chair, he sank into it, exhaustion written into every line of his body.

“Wanna tell me tonight’s specials, flyboy?” Steve countered, pulling the tray-table over his lap so Tony could reach one end. It smelled amazing, really. He wanted it. He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do first. Eat tagliatelle or whatever it was with a plastic hospital fork? Or attack the appetizer with the spork? God, how was he supposed to manage the _steak_?

“There’s mozzarella di bufala with arugula pesto and olive oil on your left,” Tony said, his voice effortlessly transitioning from his normal accent to a flowing, rippling Italian one that made picking out the words immediately more difficult. “Then we’ve got chianti stained pappardelle with wild boar ragù and for secundi there’s the ribeye with roasted potatoes and aceto manodori and there’s a surprise for dolci.”

Steve blinked at the spread, struggling to apply wartime Italian to the food laid out in front of him. “Arugula pesto? Isn’t that a basil thing?” he asked plaintively, turning the plate of tomato salad with his thumb, as if a better angle would make putting some in his mouth easier.

He was hungry, but this meal deserved more than a super-soldier vacuum cleaner. He eyed the ‘arugula pesto’ dubiously.

“Sure, you can make pesto out of pretty much anything, it’s just, herb and oil and...parmesan? Or pine nuts, you know what? Ask me an engineering question,” Tony replied, leaning over and adding a serving fork like a pro to the salad. Steve picked up his plastic fork, but Tony winced and swapped it for a perfectly rolled napkin holding some real cutlery, including a steak knife.

“You know,” Tony said with a little grin, unrolling a second cutlery set while Steve was still fumbling with the napkin ring. “Rhodey and I waited tables for a semester at MIT when Dad cut off my funds.”

Steve felt his eyebrows rising, expressing incredulity he didn’t quite feel. His cutlery rattled in his hand, until he separated them out and at least his eyes would stay focused when he looked at Tony. When he tried to look at the food, they refused and skated over the edges of the fancy takeout boxes instead. Wa he supposed to start with the salad? Or serve himself a plate, then start? His head was full of a fuzzy blankness, refusing to give him answers when he tried to _do_ anything.

“Look, I don’t know what Rhodey told you, but I was not the reason their ovens caught on fire. My modifications improved efficiency–”

Steve laughed quietly, even though it pulled a little at his sore abdomen. Tony tried for huffy for a moment before he broke out into a small grin. “All right, I might have had something to do with it.” They held eye contact for a moment before Tony broke it, flapping his hands in the direction of the food. He looked back at Steve and Steve cringed slightly, he was being weird, he knew he was. He was _starving_ , and it was right there, what the hell?

“You alright, Stevie? What’s going on?”

Steve shook his head, “Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t know where to start... It all looks amazing.”

“I mean, there’s supposed to be...starter, secundii, and all that, but, just choose whatever. It’s all delicious.”

Steve’s cutlery fell from his nervous fingers and he fumbled to grab them, too slow, though, and he pulled his shoulder injury-- almost healed, but obviously not enough, damn it. What the hell was going on?

“You okay? Spock, I think you need to dial it up, buddy--”

“No! No, it’s fine, I just-- I’m not hungry, it’s fine...” But he was looking at the food, feeling ravenous, but he could hear his heart ratcheting up, and Spock making concerned beeping, and _Tony_ was too far away and why wasn't he out there with the others looking for Bucky right now, couldn't he see that Steve had failed him, that he needed to be brought back _right now_?

“Steve, _Steve_ , what’s wrong? Come on, breathe slowly, sweetheart. Do I need to get your doctor?”

“No, It’s, not-- Bucky--” Steve frowned, fisting a handful of blankets, controlling his breathing through force of muscle. “This is taking too long! If he’s not-- not dying of withdrawal from th-the _smack_ , some piece of _Hydra_ is going to put him in the t-the _chair, monstrosity_ , and… and–”

His breathing was in the way, why weren't his lungs listening, spasming and failing him and he didn't have enough air. His mouth opened and closed and nothing fucking came in and his abdomen hurt from the force–

A paper bag over his mouth, smelling of rich garlic and tomato and meat and gelatin and it was just like Brooklyn, the tenement, smells coming out of Mrs. Alberti’s cramped kitchen, Bucky’s face in mock hurt–Bucky, Bucky, Bucky...

“Breath in and hold, can you do that for me, sweetheart?” He looked up and Tony was-- god, he was glad Tony _was_ here, close enough to reach out and grab, bring him almost onto the bed. “Yeah, okay, Stevie, that’s fine...” Tony said, gripping his shoulder hard, squeezing him. “Here, breathe into this, uh, ‘six normal breaths’, then normal air, okay?”

Steve gripped him back and breathed as carefully as he ever had when the asthma had been bad, only it wasn’t his mom, or-- ahh, nope, not right now. He couldn’t think that way. They would find Bucky. Natasha was amazing, she could find a-- a- jonesing assassin, in a city half locked down after the helicarrier crashes.

He took the last of his six breaths, Tony’s thumb rubbing calming circles into the nape of his neck, and when he put the bag down, his chest ached but he took a deep breath and the ache swelled then evaporated.

“Well what do you know, that serum’s good for something after all. You all right? And if you say you’re ‘fine’ I will have empirical evidential reason not to listen.”

“Uh... I ...just want him back, Tony. But I...I’m tired. Let’s just...eat?”

Tony obviously didn’t believe him, and he wasn’t sure he believed himself, either. He squirmed under Tony’s evaluation, and wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or feeling impending doom when Tony’s face softened abruptly and he turned to the tray-table.

“I really am hungry–” Steve protested, when Tony pulled the table away, and Tony’s warm smile was sad, so sad, but understanding as he wielded a serving fork.

“It’s okay, Steve. I think I get it. There’s a name for that, now. When you can’t do anything because there’s too many choices. I’m sorry I stressed you out.” He scooped some pasta onto Steve’s plate and Steve’s mouth watered at the fresh waft of steam. “Those files were no easy reading, huh?”

Steve heaved a sigh and leant his head against Tony’s chest for a second. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’s done now. Let me coax you through the first few mouthfuls, you’ll have more resources when you’re not hungry, I think. Your stomach knows where it’s at.”

Steve blushed furiously because _what?_ But he couldn’t say no, either. “Yeah. Okay. That sounds...pretty god. Good! I mean, god, I’m starving.”

“Better try it before it goes cold,” Tony said with a grin.

“Ha, ha.” Steve opened his mouth and let Tony offer him a piece of the (cold) cheese, already trailed through the pesto and olive oil and bursting with flavour over the delicate, mouth watering richness of the mozzarella itself. He sighed gratefully and caught Tony’s hand, still holding the fork, and kissed his knuckles to make it clear to Tony that he appreciated the gift. His taste buds were singing already. Tony indulged him in a few more lazy bites, alternating tomato and cheese until Steve couldn’t take the slow pace anymore and took the fork back to speed things up a bit.

Laughing, eyes bright, Tony forked a generous portion of pasta and boar onto Steve’s plate, and topped it with a sprinkling of parmesan like an artist adding the final touch. Steve fell on it like it was his salvation.

The pappardelle was as silky as promised and the ragù just as rich and unctuous as Mrs. Alberti’s had ever been. Steve was sure it was nicer meat, each scrap coming apart on his tongue and bursting with succulence, but for a second he was right back there, shoulder to shoulder with Bucky and filling his belly with rich, hearty food. He tensed but this time the memories didn't overwhelm him, so he took a breath and relaxed, stomach throbbing but happy to accept whatever food he could shove at it.

The edge of wine in the sauce cut through the richness to make the flavours explode at the back of his mouth and warm his stomach all through. It was refreshing, too and made him want more after every bite, no matter how rich it was, or how much he tried to savour it. It was perfect, his stomach craving the mixture of protein, carbs and fat and his palate delighted by the aroma of more delicate flavours. He had to physically pull himself away from licking the plate, but Tony upended the box over it, serving out even the very last noodle and he dug in again. He finished it just as Tony finished his much smaller serving and tugged the genius over for a kiss. He tasted like the pappardelle, too, and Steve let him go before he tried to devour him too.

That left the massive ribeye and the mysterious dessert. Tony cut into the steak but rather than dividing it, he turned through a right angle half way and cut off a quarter. Puzzled, Steve looked up at him to ask, only for the three-quarter portion to slide onto his plate. It was soft and juicy, the browned outside sweet and peppered, and just as flavourful inside, a tender, pink perfection marbled with glossy fat. The silky sauce that Steve had earlier admired was savory and bursting with complimentary spices while the potatoes were crisp on the outside and pillow soft in the middle.

He ploughed through it, savouring each mouthful, but not too much, and mopping up every last drop of juice and sauce with a potato saved specifically for the purpose.

He looked up to see Tony smiling at him, his own plate still not empty. Steve let out a small smile of his own in response. “That was really good, Tony.” He reached out to Tony and squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

“Now that’s more like it. Your meds good?”

Steve nodded. “Spock’s great, Tony. Calm down.”

“I’m calm. I am so full of steak and carbs that it is physically impossible to be not calm.”

Steve huffed and dragged Tony onto the bed so they were crammed in hip to hip. “Good. One of us better be,” Steve muttered. The serum and the food may have taken care of the panic but _God_ , it didn’t stop him feeling like a piece of his life was missing. Walking around in the world.

“You know...” Tony started. “You can’t _get_ addicted. So, all those data you looked through today... doesn’t mean that much.”

“It’s not the same serum.” He sighed and risked a twinge to turn his face into Tony’s neck. “He’s still out there. I should be out there, and I’m stuck in here instead.”

“Mmhm. ‘s the worst.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start. If he was the Bucky I know? I’d go to New York, go home and, just... he’d _turn up_. But...”

“We don’t know how much he remembers. What he’s been ‘taught’.”

Steve huffed into Tony’s collar and nodded. Bucky’s face had been unfamiliar in a bizarrely familiar way, and his voice had been worse. He was so much bigger, too...That arm was twice the size of what Steve remembered, and his flesh side was almost to match. And his _shoulders._ He had no idea what kind of work could do that to a body, but Bucky hadn’t looked good on it. Sallow, almost.

“Hey Steve?” Steve twitched enough to show he’d heard. “That’s actually a really good idea.”

“What, you think he’s going to slip out of the heavily guarded city, hop on the damn greyhound and _go to Brooklyn?_ ”

“You’re the one who know’s Bucky and if there is one thing we know about the serum, it’s that it has one hell of a healing factor. And if what Sam and Nat are seeing is right, he’s already gotten out and worked his way through a couple of bases.”

Steve pulled back and frowned. “So, what? I should go back to New York? Put up an ad?”

“At least for a week or two. Get healed up and... honestly? I could use a hand.”

“What? Is the company--?”

“SI’s fine, but me and Hill, we’re working on pulling out and confirming loyalty of SHIELD agents...It’s a mess, Steve. There are mobile bases we’ve lost contact with entirely, one of the previous generations of helicarriers has gone _missing_ \-- Honestly, it’s blowing up in our faces.”

“Shit...” He... he’d known that they were blowing everyone’s cover, but it had been the only way to break Hydra out of the shell SHIELD had become. He wished there had been another way, but Insight couldn’t go live. He’d have lost everything and Hydra would have killed SHIELD using the friends and superiors they’d learnt to trust. But he hadn’t even thought _to_ help with the resulting fallout. Steve was a soldier, not a commander.

“Language,” Tony said distractedly. “Look, I haven’t even got the people, the _trusted_ people, to get on the phone to these people. SHIELD, real SHIELD, doesn’t trust itself, but it trusts _you.”_

“Damnit, Tony. I need to help Nat!” Steve swore, sitting up. “Bucky’s not gonna go in quietly. I can’t pull people I don’t even know out of messes half a continent away when I can’t even bring my best friend in, and he’s in the same _city!_ ”

Tony’s face was tight, his eyes fiery. “The Black Widow is the world’s foremost espionage expert–”

Steve pushed away from him with a grimace, too caught up in the argument to notice the pain it provoked. “He has a metal _ARM_ that could catch my shield when I _threw_ it _!_ He makes headshots _through walls_ –”

Spock started beeped loudly and they both turned to look at it.

“Fucking hell,” swore Steve, “You’re stupid, fucking AI…”

“Sam’s there for that, pararescue are the badassest of the good, Steve,” Tony said quietly. The fight looked like it had been sucked right out of him.

Steve held his gaze but Tony broke it, turning to study the report that Spock was spitting out, all high heart rate and blood pressure and pain off the charts and why was Tony looking, Steve did not want him seeing how his body was failing him, why wasn’t he fighting him, Tony was always good for a fight–

“You need to breathe into the bag again?” interrupted Tony, concern written in every word.

Steve scowled in frustration. “No, I do not need to– Tony!”

Tony’s hands came up to grip his shoulders, face determined but infuriatingly not angry.

“Look, I get it, I get it. When Pepper tried to keep me from Gulmira, I freaked out, went in guns blazing– point is, my weapons left a giant pile of collateral and, that was my responsibility. I had to fix it. And this? This is on us.”

Steve’s gut turned and he resisted the urge to look away, the niggling feeling that Tony was right, growing with every word out of Tony’s mouth.

Tony held the eye contact this time. “The Avengers pulled down SHIELD, Steve, we put it down like the mad dog it turned into.” He looked away for a moment before he caught Steve’s gaze again, eyes blazing. “And I need you to step up.”

Steve gave in first and looked away but now that Tony had said it he couldn’t unsee it. This was his responsibility. It had been the right, the _only_ thing to do but Tony was right, this was his responsibility. It was time to hand out the orders, not just follow them. The world didn’t need soldiers, not this time. It needed leaders, commanders. Steve’s job had always been about more than just being a soldier. He was _Captain America_.

Steve marshaled his breathing before looking up to meet Tony’s eyes, sitting tall for what felt like the first time since Bucky had put a slug in his stomach. “Alright. What do I need to do?”

Tony sank into the bed, relief in every line of his body. Gosh he looked so tired, how had Steve not seen that? Tony relaxed, shuffling against Steve’s shoulder and sinking down. “Right now?”

“Yes, Tony. Right now.” Surely Tony understood. “Captain America doesn’t _get_ to be laid up in hospital.”

Tony lifted his head, bristling. “Well ‘Captain America’ can listen to his–”

“What, Tony? S-i-C?” Steve countered, still itching for a fight.

Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen Tony so angry, eyes blazing, jaw clenched and fists white. “I was actually going to say ‘boyfriend’, but I forgot that you weren’t _interested–_ ”

Oh.

Steve looked away a second time.

Oh.

Had Tony really been carrying this around since New York? Since the very first time when Steve had said they didn’t need to be exclusive? Guilt swirled in his stomach. Gosh, if Tony had wanted more, why hadn’t he said something, why had he agreed–

Because he was Tony and that was what Tony did.

Damn it, Steve was going to throw up his first real meal if he didn’t get this crap sorted out.

He looked up instead, heart hammering in his chest. It took all of his courage to hold out his hand.

“How about ‘partners’?”

Tony slowly looked up like a feral cat expecting Steve’s hand to bite him. Ever so slowly he reached out to take it. “...I like it.” His gaze turned sharp and canny. “And ‘Captain America’ can listen to his _partner_ and eat his damn tiramisu.”

Steve squeezed his hand before wrapping his arm around Tony and pulling him up against his side.

A vague memory surfaced. “I thought you said that they didn’t do tiramisu?” he said with a teasing smile.

Tony shrugged and pulled out the last box, setting it on the table along with two clean forks. When he opened the lid he revealed a giant slab of tiramisu covered in a good layer of cocoa, decorated with curls of chocolate. The creamy layer underneath was as tempting as Steve had ever seen, like thick duvet on top of the soaked biscuits, covering them and oozing artistically.

Tony grabbed one of the spoons and took a generous scoop. When he popped it in his mouth, his face glowed like he was having an orgasm, right there in front of Steve, sucking on the spoon. Steve felt his pants tighten and he swallowed. Tony looked like some sort of pin-up when he did that.

It was far too long before Tony’s eyelashes fluttered open, Steve still staring. Tony gave the spoon one last suck before removing it, cheshire grin on his face. “They made an exception.”

 


End file.
